Ignis Fatuus
by glitchcraft
Summary: Ceinwen knows exactly what she is - a charlatan, a thief, an illusionist, and someone who would much rather sit back and have a good time than bother playing hero. However her trip to Skyrim begins to go awry when she meets a fresh faced Nord who just so happens to have the soul of a dragon. As long as she can walk away with some coin and a couple good stories, she might not mind.


The Bosmer sat beneath the towering elm, its drooping branches obscuring her resting form. Her bright, amber eyes were locked on the cobblestone path that wound through the woods. Across the path, some elk grazed in a clearing, speckled by the afternoon sun. Every so often, she could hear a rabbit rustling in a nearby thicket.

Patience was key to a successful hunt, and if she wished, Ceinwen could have bagged herself some game and called it a day. But she wasn't after such simple prey. For in the northern stretches of Falkreath hold, people's guard seemed to be unusually low. She figured it was because those heading south from the Reach had spent days of travel looking over their shoulders in fear that the Forsworn would choose them as a target. She hadn't had a chance to travel through that region yet, having just arrived in the province a week beforehand, but she'd heard enough about it that she had little interest in doing so. Brushes with death were exciting, but not every waking moment. The novelty would wear off at some point, she imagined.

She had her eyes set on Whiterun - the central most city in Skyrim, and a bustling hub for trade. But that was a goal that remained a little farther off. In that immediate moment, Ceinwen was looking for money, or food. Whichever came first at the hands of any passerby foolish enough to not keep a better eye on their pockets.

Just as her mind began to wander a little too far, getting tangled up in "what ifs" and the possibilities that a new city could hold for her, she was jostled back into reality by the sound of heavy footsteps against stone.

She perked up, hoping to catch a glimpse of whoever might be coming before they neared. Any information she could get in advance kept things running smoothly. Not that she didn't enjoy a little chaos. She was just a little too hungry for any hangups.

The first thing she noticed was that they weren't alone. Not unless they had an extra set of legs, or were using some sort of illusion spell to make their steps echo in a sad attempt to ward off an ambush. Though, a spell like that could come in handy. _Why hadn't she thought of creating something like that?_

Then they came into view - a pair of figures both clad in unremarkable blue and beige robes, one with a hood shielding their face from view, the other an Imperial woman. She had mousy brown hair, but what stood out was the circlet hardly covered by her fringe. Ceinwen couldn't be sure what the metal was, but the glistening sapphires adorning it were unmistakable. Whoever that woman was, she either had money, or a very generous friend who did.

As they passed, Ceinwen picked up on a few other details. The both wielded steel maces, which were thankfully hanging unprepared off their belts at their sides. Those two didn't look particularly menacing, but being bludgeoned to death was lower on the list of ways she wanted to go out. The other detail - the far more interesting one - were the sigils engraved in the handles of their weapons.

Vigilants of Stendarr.

If she wasn't compelled to rob them blind beforehand, she certainly was after spotting that. She had no qualms with religion or worship, but the Vigilants were her exception. Between their "holier-than-thou" demeanor, and unwavering extremism, they always managed to rub her the wrong way.

Warily, she slipped out of her hiding place, narrowly avoiding the array of twigs that coated the ground. She ducked beneath the branches - lifting them would be too disruptive, and she'd much prefer some errant needles and sap clinging to her hair than risk scaring off the only reward she'd get for _such_ an admirable display of patience.

Rhythm was key, almost more than silence in this particular instance. After a moment of observation, she matched her footfalls in time with the hooded figure's. Crouched and moving with a familiar amount of caution, they were none the wiser to the Bosmer's approach.

"We should set up camp soon." The Imperial mentioned, voice hushed and drowsy.

"It's the middle of the day." The hooded one - also a woman.

"You didn't let us stop last night, and if I have to walk another mile my legs are going to give out."

There was a scoff from her companion. "If you want to risk these conjurers getting out of hand, then you're free to rest. But remember, if I die, my blood is on your hands."

"That's... Uh..."

 _Melodramatic?_ That's about what Ceinwen would have said, were she not eyeing the satchels at their sides with such intensity. They were almost definitely enchanted - it was rare to find one in the region that wasn't. Even common bartenders would keep their bags and pockets enchanted for the sake of convenience. Traveling was much easier when your tiny, insignificant bag could hold just about anything you tried to squeeze into it. But the charm didn't seem to be too strong on these. The Imperial's in particular was beginning to sag with the weight of its contents, beckoning to the thief.

She reached out, and deftly flipped the cover open. She paused for only a moment to gauge whether or not either of them had noticed anything even slightly different. They seemed as oblivious as ever.

Gently, she slid her fingers into the pouch. The first thing they hit was made of leather - a bag tied shut with a small, braided hide rope. She pinched the top of it between her fingers, and quickly removed her hand.

Still clueless.

Curiosity getting the best of her, she returned her hand to the satchel. It took a moment of blindly fishing around, wiggling her fingers in hopes that something would pass by them before she attracted any attention.

Something bumped up against her nail. She reached for it to examine the item. It was round, but not a perfect sphere. Her lips curled into a smile at the promise of what _had_ to be food. She grabbed it, freed it from the bag, and stayed put while the Vigilants carried on their merry way.

Once they rounded a corner out of sight, Ceinwen was at ease enough to examine her prizes. She straightened back up, and turned her gaze to the goodies in her hands.

In her right she held a decorative coin purse, with elaborate textures and patters imprinted into the dyed aubergine leather. In her left? A rather small potato.

She bit her lip, closed her eyes, and tried to stifle the laugh building in her chest. She wanted food. She _got_ food. She never specified whether or not she wanted something she could eat raw, so she supposed she got her wish. Maybe she should have been more specific, but she really hadn't expected anyone to be carrying around a lone potato in their bag. It didn't feel like there were any others in there, and it was far too tiny to justify eating by itself.

Caving, she giggled a bit and tucked both of her finds into the satchel at her side. She could probably cook that later if she got herself something else to go with it. Or, perhaps she could keep it around as a surprise for anyone who might think of pick pocketing _her_ in some weird, karmic twist of fate.

As for the contents of the purse? She preferred to check that when she knew she was free from any prying eyes. There was the off chance that it was full of more vegetables, but it was more likely brimming with gold or other valuables.

Feeling rather pleased with herself, Ceinwen meandered back down the road, headed for the clearing she'd situated herself by earlier. If she was going to have to cook an actual meal, she might as well take out one of those elk instead of wasting her time hunting for something else.

"Hold it right there."

Her heart froze in her chest at the sound of a man's voice. The heavy accent told her that the stranger was a Dunmer before she even laid eyes on him.

At the side of the road stood the elf. His skin was a deep grey - nearly purple, at first glance - providing a stark contrast with his scathing ruby glare. His features were worn and weathered, lines likely made worse by the scowl plastered on his face. By his well worn hide armor, matched with a pristine orcish dagger and a shining amulet around his neck, it didn't take a genius to recognize that he was as much a thief as Ceinwen. Though, more poorly disguised, she noted. At least she took effort not to mix and match pieces like that. It looked suspicious on anyone. Particularly a man standing on the side of the road, pointing a knife at people.

"Me?" She asked with widening eyes and a tilted head, putting on her best "confused puppy" face she'd used countless times before.

"Who else could I be talking to?" He spat. "Yes, _you._ "

"Oh, right, sorry." She giggled. "What do you need?"

His eyes narrowed, and he took a step closer. "Hand over your valuables. _Now_."

"Valuables? I'm a traveling bard. Do you really _think_ I have money?"

"Do you _really_ think I didn't just see you rob those two?"

"I have no idea what you're-"

"The coin purse. Hand it over, and I'll let you walk away." He extended a calloused hand towards Ceinwen, whose lips had curled into a pensive frown.

" _Ah_. You want _that_. That clears a few things up."

"And?"

"And? Think about this for a second. Do you _really_ want to mug me? Do you _really_ want to be complicit in this cycle of greed and-"

"I'm running out of patience."

She chuckled. His clenched jaw and eager posture did enough to tell the girl that he was on the verge of hostility far before his words did. And when he finally lost his grasp on his temper, she'd be prepared.

"I don't even know what's in the purse." She admitted with a shrug. "It might not even be worth your time."

"That's it. I've had enough of your mouth."

He lunged at her, blade at the ready. With a small yelp, Ceinwen extended a hand and wisps of pale blue light danced from her palm.

The thief's blade missed, falling from his hand and down to the pathway, as his arms fell relaxed at his side. Crimson eyes wandered about on an otherwise vacant expression - if there were gears turning in his head, they certainly weren't turning very quickly.

"Are we all set, then?"

"Hm?" He furrowed a brow at the dark haired Bosmer. "Did... Something feels... Strange."

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

"Did you cast something on me?"

"I'm a bard, not a mage."

"I could have sworn I was just..."

"You were just what?"

"... Nothing. Never mind."


End file.
